These to poems were for an anthology that sadly didn’t happen but I wanted to share them with you nonetheless. I’m told the imagery is pretty good.
The Stallions of Elysium
By Nicholas Wilkinson
The Stallions of Elysium roar through Heaven’s gate.
Within there’ll be a felicity that time can not abate.
There is no room for death and gloom in fields full of golden wheat
With blissful meadows, flower petals, and fruit that’s honey sweet
Colt and filly side by side with power in their gait,
When the day is done, they still run, exhausted but elate.
Homer dreamt of shining fields more beautiful than Crete,
With ice-cold streams to quench the thirst, so perfectly replete
The Stallions of Elysium go neigh-hey-hey
And gallop into the night.
O Gods, to you we pray-hey-hey
For we have seen the light,
Pluto guides the way-hey-hey
His dwelling on the right.
The Stallions of Elysium they bray-hey-hey,
In heavenly respite.
It’s always warm, no heavy storms on shores where Ocean swells,
Their guileless eyes are open wide, spark lightning in their cells.
Flowing mane blustered by the warm winds of the West
Rhadamanthus there, judging fair, Isle of the Blessed
Canter past the Heroes’ Hall, dash past the citadels,
Ride until the road gives way to sea foam and seashells.
Past the shady groves o’ergrown, and leaves that are appressed,
The trees then yield, and Elysian Fields begin to manifest.
The Stallions of Elysium go neigh-hey-hey
Eyes now burning bright.
O Gods, to you we pray-hey-hey
Let Hermes now take flight!
Pluto guides the way-hey-hey
It is his sacred rite.
The Stallions of Elysium they bray-hey-hey,
Insatiable in appetite.
Apples drop from dewy boughs, yet they never spoil.
Horses reap the just rewards of their noble toil.
All roads lead where you want to go, by tantivy or by trot,
Ethereal and majestic beasts, with muscles lean and taut
Blessed among the righteous souls who anointed them in oil,
Absent of pain, disease, and strife, no masters, for here they’re royal.
There is no pain, loss, or grief, and worry is all for naught,
The sun-soaked equines remain untamed and never to be caught.
The Stallions of Elysium go neigh-hey-hey
In a thunderous show of might.
O Gods, to you we pray-hey-hey
Sacred words they must recite.
Pluto guides the way-hey-hey,
His guidance they do invite.
The Stallions of Elysium they bray-hey-hey,
Above the clouds of white.
Bound not by a halter rope, no corral or cage for thee,
On the Island of the Blessed, forever to run free.
The Stallions of Elysium, their grace, we do applaud,
Silent there, I do declare, nary a nicker or a nod.
Driving hard into the sands, so fearless and carefree,
Together as one soul they charge, stallion, mare, pony.
A hundred hooves unshoed in celestial sands, they plod,
For in the freedom of the run they see the face of God.
The Stallions of Elysium go neigh-hey-hey
And gallop into the night.
O Gods, to you we pray-hey-hey
For we have seen the light.
Pluto guides the way-hey-hey
His dwelling on the right.
The Stallions of Elysium they bray-hey-hey,
In heavenly respite.
The Belles of Hell
By Nicholas Wilkinson
The gates of Hell swing open wide, for tonight is Persephone’s Ball
From sinful maiden to demoness, all will heed the call.
A night of malicious frolic, much to the Devil’s delight
And if you care to take the dare, your eyes won’t believe the sight.
The Queen of Hell sits looking on, as demons fill the hall
Satan sits just to her left, entranced and in her thrall.
Skeletal elk scream from mounts on walls adorned with blight
“All who come are under my thumb, in the Devil’s House tonight!”
The bells of hell go ring-a-ding-ding
Bound by dark decree.
And the hounds of hell, they sing-a-ling-a-ling
In blasphemous jubilee.
O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-ling,
No grave, no rest for thee.
The Belles of Hell in Spring-a-ling-ling,
Are damned for eternity.
A masquerade of phantoms, in a palace of the oppressed.
Demons dressed in finery at the Morning Star’s request.
Angels of the abyss, playing harpsichords of fire.
Banshees wail in unison while plucking on their lyre.
Wines of every vintage and sour-mash on request.
A succulent feast spread out before the ravenous captive guests.
A caravan of faces, in fanciful attire.
Belles of Hell escorted in by a cloaked and damned Black Friar.
The bells of hell go ring-a-ding-ding,
It’s time to start the show.
And the hounds of hell, they sing-a-ling-a-ling
In feverish allegro.
O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-ling?
Tonight you must forgo,
So The Belles of Hell in Spring-a-ling-ling,
Can dance and drink Bordeaux.
One night every century, to cure his wife’s lament,
The Belles of Hell are all round up and brought to this event.
It’s a night of no disease, and it’s a night of no discord,
It’s a night to eat and dance among The Devil’s wicked horde.
There’s Abaddon the Destroyer, master of torment,
Legion, who is many, feeding on their discontent.
Shadow Demons descend the stairs, as the band strikes up a chord,
They dance a Devil’s Waltz, with those whom they’ve abhorred.
The bells of hell go ring-a-ding-ding
As the night begins to wane,
And the hounds of hell, they sing-a-ling-a-ling
In devilish refrain.
O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-ling,
When you sit with those you’ve slain,
So The Belles of Hell in Spring-a-ling-ling,
Can toast and sip champagne?
As the night comes to an end, Persephone on her throne,
Surrounded by those she made attend, but utterly alone.
The Belles of Hell each come by, and curtsey to their queen.
Shows how little they all know, she finds it all obscene.
The sun now sets upon her day, with a husband to bemoan.
No chance to escape her fate or even to dethrone,
The Belles of Hell are all she has to feel as if she’s seen,
So come each ball they’ll hear the call, and dress and primp and preen.
The bells of hell go ring-a-ding-ding,
Bound by dark decree.
And the hounds of hell, they sing-a-ling-a-ling
In blasphemous jubilee.
O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-ling?
No grave, no rest for thee.
The Belles of Hell in Spring-a-ling-ling,
Are damned for eternity.